


Because of Me

by kingsmanlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ???? sort of, Angst, BAMF!John, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, fluffy!mycroft, not really - Freeform, prompt, wounded!lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1210270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsmanlock/pseuds/kingsmanlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wounded!lestrade, BAMF!john, FLUFFY!mycroft. lestrade kidnapped for info about Mycroft, as him and lestrade have a (close friendship is preferable with a get together later on, but an established one is not out of the question), john, Mycroft and security rescue lestrade and please please PLEASE include Mega-fluff while greggy is in hospital</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because of Me

**Author's Note:**

> I dont know if this is what you wanted but here ya go, sorry, it's late, im runnin on 4 hours of sleep and coffee so yeah sorry

 

Coming into consciousness is a strange feeling; all your limbs feel like lead, your head is fuzzy and your eyes can hardly focus.

 

That is how Greg Lestrade feels right now. He is tied to a chair somehow, arms fastened together by the wrists behind his back and legs tied to either leg of the chair. There is a sticky ooze trickling down his face from his temple. _Blood_ , Greg assumes.

 

Greg groans softly as he tries to lift his head, the motion causing a wave of pain to erupt between his eyes and down his neck.

 

"Well well, looks like sleeping beauty has finally woken up again." A voice in the shadows startles Greg, making him whip his head up, causing another wave of pain, to which he suppresses a groan; _never show weakness to the enemy_ , thought Greg.

 

Now that Greg can focus slightly, he takes in his surroundings. He's in a warehouse of some sort, the walls are slick with grime and a high roof. It's dark all around apart from one long jet of bulbs streaming light from directly above Greg's head.

 

Lestrade then notices the pain. Pain that radiates from everywhere in his body; his head, arms, torso, legs, even his feet throb for some reason. Then the events from last night flood back to him; the beatings; the yelling; the questions. The questions were all about someone, who though.... _Mycroft_.

 

Greg had been kidnapped for information on Mycroft Holmes.

 

"So, are you ready to give up? Give in and tell us what you know about the poof?" Greg felt himself get angrier. Who was this guy to be able to call Mycroft fucking Holmes a _poof_? He set his jaw defiantly, clenching his fists to keep his frustration down.

 

"Was last night not enough? You actually want to get beaten more, all because of some poncy snob?" The owner of the slithering voice comes out of the shadows. A tall, well built man comes into view, his face set in a mask of disgust and a sneer permanently etched on his face. He vaguely remembers the man's name to be "Necrolass".

 

Greg remains silent.

 

But that's when the first strike comes, crashing down on his face like an unexpected wind billows into your bones. Greg can't help the grunt of surprise and pain, his whole face ignites with a burning sensation of overwhelming agony.

 

"Now tell me. About. Mycroft. Holmes" Each word was accentuated with another hit; one to the nose, another to the stomach and the last to the cheek.

 

By this time, Greg can feel the hot liquid flowing down his face, covering his mouth and filling his sense of taste and smell with copper from his own blood.

 

He spits out the red assailant, "No."

 

His petulance earns him another blow.

 

Greg hears metal clink against metal. He catches sight of the chains just as they hit his stomach. He doubles over, trying to catch his breath.

 

"Who does he work for?"

 

Greg shakes his head.

 

Another hit; more blood spews out Greg's mouth.

 

More questions are asked, to which Greg remains silent, taking hit after hit, never saying a word.

 

He knows Mycroft is coming for him. He knows.

 

* * *

 

"Have the team on stand by. Await my signal to get him out of there." Mycroft is standing outside, just a few streets away from the warehouse in which Greg is being held.

 

He scrubs his hands over his face. What the hell was he going to do? Greg's captor is a known murderer, wanted in several countries, he'd have no qualms about killing Greg.

 

Mycroft stops himself right there because, no, he can think of the DI being dead.

 

He and the Inspector had become quite close over the past few months and not having Greg there would be.... _unfortunate_ for Mycroft; in other words, Mycroft would be devastated.

 

He paces, worrying constantly and increasingly.

 

"When are you going in for him?" John comes jogging over to him, Sherlock following behind after paying the cab driver.

 

"The team are awaiting my signal." John looks slightly relieved for som- _oh_.

 

"I'm going in too." Sherlock looks down at John in horror.

 

"No you're not." Sherlock hisses at the same time Mycroft refuses; "That won't be necessary."

 

John stands his full height - still quite a bit taller than both Mycroft and Sherlock, mind you.

 

"Of course I am." John makes for the collection of men gearing up to go inside but Sherlock grabs his arm before he can go anywhere.

 

"No, John, you're not. It is too dangerous." Sherlock is blatantly trying to ward off any and all emotion from his face, but John can see worry spark through his features.

 

"I know it's dangerous but I can handle it. I've been to war and l've been running after _you_ for years, I'll be fine." John shook off Sherlock's grip and walked over to get ready.

 

"Why didn't you stop him?" Sherlock asked Mycroft accusingly.

 

"Because you and I both know that once the good doctor sets his mind to something, he will achieve it." Mycroft sighs resignedly and walks over to John, leaving Sherlock to catch up.

 

As John gets his bullet proof vest and the rest of his gear on, Mycroft informs him on the plan and the whereabouts of Lestrade; the team were to sort out the kidnapper's protectors and John was to go straight for Greg.

 

Nodding, Mycroft sends the signal and the team, including John, to go into the warehouse.

 

He leads Sherlock into a van full of surveillance to track the team's progress.  

 

Sitting on the uncomfortable chairs, Mycroft and Sherlock sit in silence, each worrying over both Greg and John.

 

As they watch the men go into the building, Mycroft confesses in a whisper, "I...I don't know what I shall do if Gregory isn't alright."

 

Sherlock only looks at Mycroft, having known that Mycroft is thoroughly besotted by the Detective. "John and the rest will get there, Greg will be...just fine."

 

Sherlock doesn't sound too confident but Mycroft takes it; any small reassurance, true or otherwise, is better than leaving his mind open to conjuring up images of a thoroughly not fine Greg.

 

Mycroft takes a deep breath, ridding himself of the unwanted thoughts and watches the screen.

 

But only a few seconds later, the screen goes blank. Nothing but static.

 

Mycroft doesn't even bother to wait and see if the picture comes back on before he's out of the van, grabbing a protective vest on the way. He throws it on and runs to the warehouse, the only thought on his mind is to find Greg, make sure he's safe.

 

Sherlock tries to follow but Anthea stops him; there are no more bullet proof vests.

 

"Get out of my way." Disregarding safety, Sherlock runs after Mycroft and into the warehouse.

 

* * *

 

Covered in his own blood, wrists slashed where the rope cuts into him and face swollen; Greg can barely stay awake.

 

There's a commotion outside, guns are fired and people are yelling. Necrolass stops pacing and strides towards the door.

 

Just as he reaches it, the door flies open. Greg sees John coming through the door; relief flows through him.

 

No one else comes after John, which seems strange to Greg but he can't dwell on it as he watches John.

 

John, looking positively murderous, backs his captor into the dingy wall, presses a gun against the man's temple and knees him in the groin.

 

The doctor takes a blow to the stomach but barely acknowledges it as he shoves the kidnapper against the wall again. They tumble to the ground but John is able to hit Necrolass on the temple with the butt of his gun, knocking the man out.

 

Just as John is about to climb off of the unconscious man, a flustered Mycroft comes running into the room and straight to the barely conscious DI.

 

"Gregory?" Mycroft kneels beside the man in the chair, completely disregarding that his suit will be ruined.

 

He tentatively reaches out a hand to untie the bloodied wrists and ankles.

 

As soon as he's untied, Greg begins to slide off the chair, too weak to hold himself up.

 

Mycroft, of course, catches him, easing him down to the floor with his upper body on Mycroft's lap. Greg groans and nestles into Mycroft's torso, the latter feels himself begin to become tearful but sniffs it away to focus on brushing Greg's hair gently away from his eyes.

 

John comes over to check on Greg, but Mycroft holds on; John decides not to say anything about it. Mycroft looks up from Greg's face to stare at John, his expression screaming " _H_ _elp, please, help him_ ".

 

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

 

Greg wakes up to a strange sound and pain everywhere.

 

Why in the world was his whole body numb and sore at the same time? He doesn't open his eyes for a few minutes.

 

He notices something in his hand. It's firm. Warm. And gripping very tightly to his own hand.

 

Greg tries to pry open his eyelids, only getting a smidgen open before the blinding light makes his eyes sear with pain.

 

"Gregory?" A faint whisper. Mycroft? _Wait_ , Greg wonders, _why is he holding my hand? And why is it so comforting?_   Greg knew exactly why, he just couldn't face it when the man he loves is sitting right there, _holding his hand_ , no less.

 

A faint mumble from Greg and his eyes beginning to open was all Mycroft needed to know that he was awake.

 

"Gregory I am deeply sorry that you were kidnapped because of me, I..." Mycroft faltered, not knowing how to continue. Greg's eyes, now fully open, were staring at him intently, "If you had not......if we had not reached you in time...I do not know what I should have done. Knowing that you were not alive because of me would have killed me. Just knowing that you are in hospital is horrible enough. I need you to know, Gregory, that you are.....indispensable to me."

 

Mycroft looks down at his and Greg's entwined hands then back up to Greg's eyes.

 

Greg mustered up all his strength to tug Mycroft's hand with his own. Mycroft got the message, standing up slightly, bending over Greg. They were mere inches from each other.

 

Greg brings the hand that is not clasped in Mycroft's up to the latter's cheek, gently brushing his fingertips along the bone. Finally, Greg gently pulls Myrcroft nearer, using the hand that was on Mycroft's cheek to close the remaining distance.

 

"Love you too, Mycroft." Greg muttered, their lips still pressing together.

 


End file.
